


At the Zenith of Time

by sunlariums



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming of Age, Dark Academia Vibes, Even if they're not technically Dead, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Art, M/M, Talking To Dead People, Too many art references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlariums/pseuds/sunlariums
Summary: He saw the world as a wondrous book he could only ever read, but never immerse himself into. Time, and some new friends, would change that, for the better or for the worse.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Nino Lahiffe, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 5
Kudos: 3





	At the Zenith of Time

Adrien was always a bit antiquated. Perhaps it came from growing up surrounded by adults who expected him to behave like an adult too. Sand castles were abandoned in favor of studying Gothic architecture, and fantasy books in his shelves were quickly replaced by biographies and history lessons. It felt delirious to call a comic book “rebellion”, but Adrien’s life was so tightly packaged to be the perfect Agreste renaissance that even the smallest exposure to a teenager’s world was daring.

The Agreste boy had resigned himself to a life of relics and loneliness, but it all came to change shortly after his mother’s disappearance. Those first months had been so chaotic, and in his father’s anxiousness to rid himself of yet another stressor, Adrien had been given access to everything a teen could ever want, except perhaps, freedom.

It was whiplash.

Shelves with studious material had been replaced by arcade machines, and a skateboard ramp had been installed where there were previously maps depicting ancient kingdoms. Everything had shifted quickly, way too quickly, and unnaturally so. What was Adrien to do with all these things? He didn’t understand video game controls, and never in his life had he owned a skateboard, because why would he, when it wasn’t nearly as dignified as horseback riding? Adrien had never seen one of those animated action series, so the posters that now decorated his room felt foreign, and he suddenly felt lonely, lonelier than he had when his only companion was The Canterville Ghost.

It was much easier to feel included when the adults asked him questions about science, and history, and humanities. It didn’t matter that they were just there to confirm that he was paying attention to his lessons. All that mattered was that for that short period of time, he was heard.

“How are you liking the new Game Station? Did you have a chance to play Marin’s Adventures yet?” Adrien had yet to touch the gaming console, and he was dubious in his ability to connect it at all, but he was happy to hear his father address him.

“Well actually-”

“I’m sure you are thrilled to resume your game. I won’t be joining for dinner, you’re free to eat in your room.” Gabriel Agreste turned around, burying his head in a document at hand, not even acknowledging his son’s words, or the way his mouth hung partially open, words left unspoken.

Dismissed. Left behind. Ignored. It hadn’t mattered how hard he tried to learn all that interested his father, how much he had immersed himself in his studies, or how many quotes by the great Stoics he had memorized. The fact was that he was to his father what Frankestein’s monster had been to Frankenstein: A great creation made only to be forgotten.

~  
It had been years now since The Shift, as Adrien had chosen to call it, and soon he would be heading off to University. He was now well versed in gaming culture, and had even accumulated a small following on a streaming service; but his childhood had shaped him too harshly, and although he enjoyed watching action flicks and followed a few comics, his evenings were still spent reading Republic, or watching (and mildly criticizing) the newest film adaptation of a Jane Eyre novel. He’d stay up at night, the TV tuned to the channel where he knew the orchestra would be playing, and study under his lamp until his mind was blurry with sleep, and the world shut down behind his eyes. 

Sometimes Adrien would imagine those quiet moments frozen in time, thinking perhaps Vermeer would also paint him as the Astronomer, and then he too would be put on display in the Louvre. Perhaps then his father would see him as something worth looking at. Then he would remember his father’s expression at finding out Adrien’s major of choice, and the emptiness in his eyes. He was the Wanderer, and his father was the immense Sea of Fog, always too gargantuan for him to traverse or understand, cursed to never set sail beyond its waters.

Adrien taped the last of his boxed belongings, placing it on top of the pile he had been organizing for the past few days. Despite Adrien’s complaints, his father had arranged for him to have his own apartment near the university, arguing that Adrien was “too easily swayed by others, and could not be trusted to devote his time to school otherwise”. Adrien thought that was a load of bullcrap. How could he possibly be swayed by others if his father had always ensured his solitude?

As a matter of fact, Adrien was not even remotely interested in joining social events at his school. Sure, there were some clubs he had looked into, but fraternities and sports events sounded like a headache in the making. No, he would much rather sit in the school’s botanical garden and watch painting restoration videos, or if prompted, help the Botanics club tend to the plants. 

It was just the way he’d grown. It was just who Adrien was.

He was getting too ahead of himself with his musings. He had yet to even see the apartment, and the school year wouldn’t begin until a couple weeks later. Enough time to settle down and make sure he’s prepared for the year, Nathalie, his father’s assistant, had said. Unspoken: Enough time for you to reconsider the major you’ve chosen, and maybe quell down your father’s dissatisfaction.

Adrien did no such thing. In fact, and out of spite alone, he enrolled in the University’s Shakespeare Company. Surely acting and business were not that different? Then all those business lessons would have a purpose.

~  
Acting and business were in fact, very, very different.  
Business mannerisms were intricately designed for the user to appear strong, immutable, cold and unfeeling. (His father, Adrien noted, was surely a master of these mannerisms. To a fault.) Acting was a world away: He had immediately struggled portraying any emotions, and when he managed to get a decent expression on his face, he was met with the challenge called “using one’s arms, torso and legs,” or as it was commonly referred, moving.

“You know, if you tense a little bit more, I might think you’re one of those creepy statues of demons with a permanent scowl on their face.” Nino teased Adrien.

Adrien had met Nino during the second meeting with the company. He was a first year audio production student, but had already been working with the local theater company since his second to last year of lycée. Nino had demanded Adrien’s attention from the moment he walked into the room: A figure clad in a very obviously large bomber jacket over a sweatshirt, half-running half-sauntering into the room, carelessly holding a laptop covered in stickers with one hand, the other too busy keeping a black beanie from falling off his head. It was a deep contrast to Adrien’s perfectly fitted brown slacks and mock turtleneck, and his long, cream colored coat. He could tell they would get along, something about that thousand years old look of nostalgia in Nino’s face told him so.

“Dude… who brought Vincent Price wannabe to the theater meeting?” Nino all but disintegrated into his chair, staring accusingly at Adrien.

Alright, perhaps getting along was not going to happen right away.

“Sorry, wrong room. I was trying to find a white-headed fly?” Adrien prayed that his limited knowledge on late 20th century horror flicks was enough to not get himself kicked from the company.

“Mylène, dude, we’re keeping him. Tell Juleka I will wail in the sound room if we don’t.” Nino’s mood instantly shifted, and he gave Adrien a satisfied smile, extending his arm for a handshake. “The name’s Nino, and the game’s… uh…something. Didn’t think that one through.”

(No one was going to comment on the way there were at least two meters between them, or how Adrien had to awkwardly stand and walk to receive the handshake.)

“I’m Agres--.” Adrien started, but then stopped himself, “Just Adrien is fine. It’s nice to meet you.” He had become so used to saying his last name first--to establishing his status--that it almost slipped out of him. But here, in the chaotic company meeting room, sitting in a circle of plastic chairs, it just felt wrong. He didn’t need a title. He needed to be himself.

~

Back in the present, Adrien’s scowl deepened. He could not, for the life of him, get his line right. A grand total of thirty-six lines, and he could not get this one right.

“Some of your French crowds have no face at all, and then you will play bare-haired. But, masters, here…”

“Close, Adrien. But it is not crowds, but crowns, and they do have faces, but they lack hair. This time you remembered the last part though!” Rose, Juleka’s assistant stage manager, beamed. Adrien dropped his head in defeat. Sure, he’d remembered the last part after what, twenty tries? And he was still making a mess out of the rest of the lines.

“Take a break, Adrien,” Juleka called out, causing Adrien to tense up. A break? He must be in so much trouble, Adrien thought, to be sent on break. His father would only ever send him on ‘break’ when he was about to be berated for a miserable job. 

His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, and he didn’t dare look Juleka in the eye, flinching away when she raised her hand. His father had never hit him, not really. But he didn’t doubt that the possibility was there, in the way his father’s knuckles turned white when he messed up his Latin, or forgot the date to an important historical battle. Not a threat, but a warning. 

Juleka’s hand landed softly on his shoulder, snapping Adrien’s eyes open.

“Hey, are you alright? You’ve been running over your lines for a few hours already.” She smiled kindly, and although her hair covered half her face, Adrien could feel the authenticity in the question, in the way her eyes scanned his face for signs of distress.

Of course, most people weren’t like his father. It’s just that he’d already been brandished by the iron rod, and it was nearly impossible to erase a scar that ran that deep.

“Yeah, I’m, yeah. Just a bit frustrated. I don’t get why I can’t get this right.”

“You don’t need to get it right this moment. You’ve had the script for what, a week? No one expects you to do perfectly, much less since it’s your first time.” Juleka smiles softly, but Adrien could see her eyes still searching.

It made him feel nauseous. He offered a strained smile and a thank you, excusing himself to the restroom.

Kindness made his stomach churn. It was much easier to do things when no one cared about him, when he could recite history facts and that was enough for people to believe he was fine. But now there were people concerned about him, and he didn’t know how to deal with that without feeling an immense fear clawing at his chest.

The thing about kindness is that it makes it that much more painful when people abandon you.

He thought back to the time he caught his father and mother speaking in quick, hushed tones in the study. 

“You expect me to keep up this ruse for what? Five years, six years more? Until the child is grown and ready to take after daddy dearest, and then I’ll be able to live again?” Adrien’s mother sounded upset, and the venom in her voice had the young boy recoiling away, only to pull back. He’d never heard his mother’s voice sound like that: She’d only spoken with the softest words, the sweetest honey tones, when aimed at him.

“All you have to do is raise the boy. We already do enough to keep him distracted, and I’ve added German to his classes. Would it kill you to be there as a motherly figure until he’s of age?” Gabriel sounded disinterested, a sound he was much more used to compared to his mother’s chilling tone.

“Have you considered that maybe I don’t want to? You get to wander the world all illustrious and successful and I’m confined to this house. This is not what I agreed to when I married you.”

“Well then would you rather ruin our family’s reputation? Let the world know that Emilie Agreste does not love her son, let the world know that she does not wish to be around the child because she had never wanted him to begin with. Is that the kind of wife I asked for?”

Adrien’s heart short-circuited after hearing those words. He leaned against the wall, and clutched at his chest, clawing in hopes of tearing the hurt away from him. His mother left the room and slammed the door behind her.

She didn’t see Adrien. Adrien never saw her again.

“Adrien? You zoned out pretty hard there. Are you sure you don’t need water or a snack?” Juleka looked increasingly worried, and Adrien just wanted to escape. He shrugged the hand off his shoulder, feeling the coldness fill his body again, and shook his head.

“I’m fine. It’s pretty late, I think I’ll be heading out,” he half-smiled, trying to stay courteous through the urge to run. “Thank you. See you tomorrow.”

He had picked up his stuff before anyone had a chance to follow. He hoped no one did.

~

Once at his apartment, he collapsed on his couch. There it was again, that creeping pain in his chest, the one that threatened to drown him if he tried to take a break. He shook his hands like he’d been burned, a nervous habit he’d acquired (amongst others) after his mother left. The pain would not subside, and now he felt like the room was spinning.

Why did he have to show such weakness in front of others? Why did he have to let his memories get to him, why did he stop running, thinking they would not catch up to him? He’d been trying so hard since he’d joined the club, but Adrien didn’t feel like it was enough. He felt like he wasn’t there.

Truth is, Adrien thought to himself, curled up in the couch, beads of cold sweat adorning his forehead, that I’ve never felt this pathetic before. Surrounded with opportunities for my future… and all I can look at is my past. He curled up against a pillow, trying to pull himself away from the world, and closer to his chest, where he could guard himself.

Adrien was the perfect recreation of Degas’ Melancholy, the muted TV casting shadows all across his face. His eyes had stopped focusing on the images the screen showed, instead wandering to some spot in his sitting room’s rug, and his ears could hardly hear anything. He was there, physically, in the room, but his mind was elsewhere. Nowhere.

His phone pinged, and he sat up, rubbing his fists against his eyes, forcing himself back into the world. The phone’s clock marked 19:00, and confusion took over him. No one called him this late, at least, no one who usually called him.

(He didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that there were only three people who ever called him: His father, Nathalie, and his driver. His mood was already sour as it was.)

“Hello?” Adrien cleared his throat, cursing the roughness in his voice.

“Dude! I can’t believe it’s actually you. Max’s a fucking genius.”

Nino. How did Nino get his number? He didn’t give that kind of information away easily, especially after his father had made it a point to remind him that his image was also the company’s image, and anyone who had his number had to be of use.

“Now, before you worry your pretty blond head, no, I didn’t steal your information, yes, I had Max scour the internet for you. Did you know there are blogs dedicated to your left nostril? Not to shame man, but like… weird.”

Adrien’s laugh was sonorous, and it broke the bubble he had encapsulated himself in for the past few hours.

“Wait until you see the ones dedicated to the right nostril.” Nino’s snort was less than graceful, but for once, Adrien didn’t mind it. He doubted he’d ever mind it. It was nice knowing he could make people laugh, at least.

“No way. That cannot be real.”

“You want to make a bet? I have it bookmarked. It’s a nice reminder of when I need to shave my nose.” He didn’t have it bookmarked, and didn’t know if it was real, but it was worth saying for Nino’s reaction.

“Dude, that’s gross.” Nino was silent for a few beats. “Are you alright? You left early, gave us all a scare.”

Adrien hesitated, unsure if he was ready to let go of the good mood he was barely grasping at.

“I will be. I guess. Just some family stuff.”

“You don’t have to tell me. We can talk about something else. Like, how ‘The Birds’ proved Alfred Hitchcock’s artistic ability was ahead of his time.” Nino’s voice sounded a bit distant as he spoke the next part, “Babe! I know he was a creep, and I’m not supporting his behavior with the actresses. I’m just saying he made good movies in his days.”

Adrien snickered, knowing Alya, the storm of a woman Nino dated, was probably calling out her boyfriend’s praise for the problematic director.

“Sorry dude. I’ve been working on my social awareness. Some directors just suck as people.”

“I’ve never watched anything by Hitchcock.” Adrien admitted. Nino gasped, and said something to Alya about ‘educating the masses’.

“And that’s my cue to make you watch at least three Hitchcock films. Wednesday afternoon?”

“Sounds like I have no choice.”

Nino chuckled, and Adrien could see the finger-guns through the phone. “At least you know it.” The call ended.

Perhaps Adrien wasn’t as alone as he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> i completely blame the writing sprints for this monstrosity of art references.


End file.
